"Darkness"

I found the stone as the sun dipped below the trees on the western side of the cemetery, and the electric lights pointed at the nameplates of the gaudier graves began to come on. Grass was grown up around it, and lichen had begun its slow work on the lee side. My cane found the earth in front of it soft, not packed down by the feet of regular visitors. 

The name on it was one I’d not seen nor heard in two decades, but which had lived in my memory ever since. It was the name of the woman I’d failed, all those years ago. The woman who had turned to me for help in a dark hour.

“I’m sorry.” I said, echoing the last words I had said to her, all those years ago. This time, the meaning was wholly different. Around me, the shadows of the trees deepened, and the last few other visitors headed for the gates.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the twenty years roll back, to the day the grave was filled, the marker set in place. A priest in black intoned in the local language, while the shadowy figures of the assembled friends and family huddled against an oppressive gray drizzle. I recognized none of them, but I could see the empty space where I should have stood, a hollow spot off to one side, a place in the soggy grass where there should have been a pair of feet standing. But I was at work that day, probably, not even knowing what was going on.

There were footsteps behind me. I turned to see a bent-backed man with an electric lantern heading my way. As soon as he had my attention, he waved and said something I didn’t understand, but I picked up the meaning - he was the groundskeeper, and it was time to go. 

I turned back to the grave one more time. I knew I wouldn’t be back, not ever. I had to come at least once. “I’m sorry.” I repeated, at a loss for what to say. After a moment’s silence, I turned and followed the groundskeeper towards the gate, as the darkness outside grew to match the black guilt within.